Hang a Thousand Trees with Ribbons Read Online Free
Author: Ann Rinaldi
stopped crying and stood up.
On the table was a silver teapot. I picked it up from its silver tray. The tea was cold by now. Slowly I poured it out into the grass. Then I took the teapot over to the fountain, knelt, and filled it with water.
And, as I had seen my mother do so many times as a child, as I had done in the fountain the Wheatleys once had in their garden—before Nathaniel tore it out to stop me—I poured the water out, slowly, back into the fountain, while facing the sun.
Something else happened then.
I felt like my mother.
I was her for a few minutes as I poured the water. And when it was all poured out of the teapot, I felt becalmed and strong. Back to the chair I went. I set the teapot on the tray.
My mind was clear now, cleansed. And I let the thoughts pour into it, like water into the fountain.
Chapter Four
JANUARY 1761
We lived near the River Senegal on the Grain Coast. And if the leopard hadn't come, I would still be living there.
But he came, to steal the antelope my father had killed for us, and that hung outside our house.
My father was known as a great hunter. We never lacked for food. Mostly he was known for hunting the black-legged mongoose. These creatures plagued us. They seemed tame and children would try to catch them. But they would bite, and many times the bitten child would die.
Other people in my village depended on my father to catch these creatures. Also he hunted the African wild dog. And die bat-eared fox.
My father's brother, Dahobar, was jealous because of the name my father had gained as a hunter. And because both brothers were rival chiefs. Dahobar had slaves. Not only that, he sold his own people to the traders for the white man's presents.
From the River Senegal to the River Congo, the slave traders' great ships came with brightly colored cloth, beads, rum, and most of all, cowrie shells.
A man's standing as a chief depended upon how many cowrie shells he had.
My father had no slaves. We were farmers. He and all the people in our tribe raised rice and maize and cattle. But we had muskets, even like the Wheatleys have here in Boston. Muskets and gunpowder we had, brass pans and kettles, red cloth, scissors, needles, colored thread. My father bartered for these things at market in exchange for what he raised.
Well, what happened is that the leopard that tooK our antelope had to be shot. So my father, the great hunter, went out to shoot it one day, took aim, missed, and shot a man instead.
My father had never missed his mark. Nobody knows what happened. To make matters worse, the man he shot was from Dahobar's tribe.
My father was brought up before one of Dahobar's tribunals and sentenced to be sold into slavery.
A ship with great masts lay riding at anchor in the River Senegal. White slavers had rowed ashore to visit Dahobar.
My father was taken away from the tribunal to be sold, but he escaped and came back to our village. His warriors were placed on guard. The ship left the River Senegal without him.
We children were not allowed to venture from our home for fear the slavers or, worse yet, Dahobar would seize us.
My friend Obour lived not far away, near the rice fields. To be together, for sport and to earn a few cowries ourselves, we sometimes worked at scaring the birds away from the grain.
But now I was not allowed to leave my home to meet Obour anymore. Kidnappers hid in the thickets along the creeks and they kidnapped children as well.
Obour worked hard chasing away birds to help her family. And I knew she would be in the rice fields early of a morning. So one morning I sneaked out before the sun was up and made my way along the familiar paths and roads just to see Obour.
I would be back before the sun favored us. Before my mother poured the water out of the stone jar to honor the sun.
There Obour was in the rice fields, busy chasing birds, laughing and enjoying herself as she always did. When I splashed through the creek, she saw me coming and raised her
On the table was a silver teapot. I picked it up from its silver tray. The tea was cold by now. Slowly I poured it out into the grass. Then I took the teapot over to the fountain, knelt, and filled it with water.
And, as I had seen my mother do so many times as a child, as I had done in the fountain the Wheatleys once had in their garden—before Nathaniel tore it out to stop me—I poured the water out, slowly, back into the fountain, while facing the sun.
Something else happened then.
I felt like my mother.
I was her for a few minutes as I poured the water. And when it was all poured out of the teapot, I felt becalmed and strong. Back to the chair I went. I set the teapot on the tray.
My mind was clear now, cleansed. And I let the thoughts pour into it, like water into the fountain.
Chapter Four
JANUARY 1761
We lived near the River Senegal on the Grain Coast. And if the leopard hadn't come, I would still be living there.
But he came, to steal the antelope my father had killed for us, and that hung outside our house.
My father was known as a great hunter. We never lacked for food. Mostly he was known for hunting the black-legged mongoose. These creatures plagued us. They seemed tame and children would try to catch them. But they would bite, and many times the bitten child would die.
Other people in my village depended on my father to catch these creatures. Also he hunted the African wild dog. And die bat-eared fox.
My father's brother, Dahobar, was jealous because of the name my father had gained as a hunter. And because both brothers were rival chiefs. Dahobar had slaves. Not only that, he sold his own people to the traders for the white man's presents.
From the River Senegal to the River Congo, the slave traders' great ships came with brightly colored cloth, beads, rum, and most of all, cowrie shells.
A man's standing as a chief depended upon how many cowrie shells he had.
My father had no slaves. We were farmers. He and all the people in our tribe raised rice and maize and cattle. But we had muskets, even like the Wheatleys have here in Boston. Muskets and gunpowder we had, brass pans and kettles, red cloth, scissors, needles, colored thread. My father bartered for these things at market in exchange for what he raised.
Well, what happened is that the leopard that tooK our antelope had to be shot. So my father, the great hunter, went out to shoot it one day, took aim, missed, and shot a man instead.
My father had never missed his mark. Nobody knows what happened. To make matters worse, the man he shot was from Dahobar's tribe.
My father was brought up before one of Dahobar's tribunals and sentenced to be sold into slavery.
A ship with great masts lay riding at anchor in the River Senegal. White slavers had rowed ashore to visit Dahobar.
My father was taken away from the tribunal to be sold, but he escaped and came back to our village. His warriors were placed on guard. The ship left the River Senegal without him.
We children were not allowed to venture from our home for fear the slavers or, worse yet, Dahobar would seize us.
My friend Obour lived not far away, near the rice fields. To be together, for sport and to earn a few cowries ourselves, we sometimes worked at scaring the birds away from the grain.
But now I was not allowed to leave my home to meet Obour anymore. Kidnappers hid in the thickets along the creeks and they kidnapped children as well.
Obour worked hard chasing away birds to help her family. And I knew she would be in the rice fields early of a morning. So one morning I sneaked out before the sun was up and made my way along the familiar paths and roads just to see Obour.
I would be back before the sun favored us. Before my mother poured the water out of the stone jar to honor the sun.
There Obour was in the rice fields, busy chasing birds, laughing and enjoying herself as she always did. When I splashed through the creek, she saw me coming and raised her
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